


Drawing Lines

by purajobot935



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Arts, Brothers, Character Study, Company, Drawing, Fights, Friendship, Gen, Prison, Secrets, Sketches, Visitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:35:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purajobot935/pseuds/purajobot935
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sunstreaker has a bit of a crappy morning. He's just off patrol, his brother's not home, and some mechs just wont leave him alone. What's a 'Bot to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drawing Lines

**Drawing Lines**

It was close to 3am when the volcano, with the rear end of the Ark sticking out from the base, finally came into sight. It was a relieving sight since he was rather exhausted. Patrol had been a long one that night and, as it lacked his usual source of amusement/annoyance, it only served to make the hours go by longer. Now, all he wanted was to have a relaxing drink of energon in the lounge, then hit the washracks and from there proceed to his quarters to sleep…. Well, at least he’d been able to have his energon.

Having finished his alloted mug, he sat down in a corner of the empty lounge to let the energon settle in his almost empty storage banks before heading down to the washracks. Then, the little red hellspawn came in from his own patrol with Mirage.

“Check it out ‘Raj, old Sunshine’s here too, and without his other half,” he remarked.

“Leave him alone Cliffjumper,” Mirage cautioned. “You know what he’s like when Sideswipe’s not around.”

At least one of them had a working processor.

“Ah, I ain't afraid of him,” Cliffjumper replied. “I’d take ‘em both on if they’d let me.”

“Yeah? You and what army?” Mirage moved to the energon dispenser.

Cliffjumper, however, didn’t know when to let sleeping dogs lie.

“Hey Sunstreaker, whats the matter? Turbo-fox rip out your vocalizer?” He took a bold step closer to the warrior. “Or are ya just as yellow as that paintjob of yours without your brother to back ya up?”

Sunstreaker debated on where to draw the line between bravery and stupidity. On the one hand, the Minibot’s bravado was somewhat amusing, and if he wasn’t so fragging tired he would have outright laughed. On the other hand, he was _fragging tired._ Humoring an ambitious runt was the last thing he could be slagged doing at the moment.

“Cliffjumper, just leave the mech be.” Mirage looked warily at the big yellow Lamborghini as if he expected him to lash out at any moment.

In Cliffjumper’s case, Sunstreaker’s silence only served to antagonize him more. He stepped right up to the warrior’s side, not noticing the way Sunstreaker’s arm twitched as his personal space was invaded.

“Then again, your brother’s nothing but all talk.”

“Do you have a death wish or something?” Mirage asked. “Just back off.”

“Eh, he’s nothing but a big coward, just like his brother,” Cliffjumper added.

Sunstreaker uncoiled faster than a rattlesnake and grabbed the Minibot by the throat.

\----------

The brig.

Out of all the Autobots at the base, he was probably one of the few of them who knew it best, considering the amount of time he spent in it. Sunstreaker shifted his weight on the small bench and tried to get comfortable muttering a curse against Cliffjumper. The little runt should have been in the brig doing time with him, but he figured the Minibot wasn’t that better off in Ratchet’s tender mercies either. Or at least he wouldn’t be once he woke up and told the medic what had gotten him there.

He smirked and leaned back against the wall, turning his head from left to right and back again, trying to work out a kink in his neck, before pulling his knees up and resting a flat pad of paper across them.

When they’d chucked him in the brig, all he’d had on him was a single sheet of paper and a bit of charcoal. He needed to think of something to put on that sheet of paper that would while away the 20 or so hours he had to spend in the brig, or he’d go mad with the boredom.

Maybe he could do a profile of one of his fellow Autobots, but those were fairly simple to do and he’d already done some nice sketches of most of the mechs he was on good terms with – all in private of course. The last thing he wanted was a runt like the red Minibot terror finding out about his artistic talent and giving him endless slag about it.

It still left him, however, with the problem of something to draw that would while away the hours till his time was up. And speaking of time, he also wondered what time it was.

“Sunstreaker?”

Mirage’s voice. The yellow mech relaxed and continued to stare at the paper. The little spy knew about his artistic skills, so there was no need to hide it. All he offered in response was a creaking of the bench as he shifted his weight again. The lean blue and white mech came into view.

“Sunstreaker, are you alright?” he asked.

“Do I look alright?” The big warrior didn’t bother to look up, but watched the other mech from the corners of his optics.

“He would have stopped if you had just kept on ignoring him,” Mirage said.

Sunstreaker grunted as he moved the charcoal over the paper in swift, firm strokes and circles. “Came here just to tell me that?”

“I came here to see if you were alright.”

“I’m fine.” He looked up then. “I’m used to being alone Mirage, you should know that.”

The spy looked back at him. “I know. And I also know how it feels.”

Sunstreaker added a few more strokes. “Get some rest, ‘Raj.” It was about as gentle as his voice would ever get.

Mirage nodded. “You too.” Then he left.

Sunstreaker looked down at what he had drawn. A single, slender, young tree, tall, its branches bending slightly in a light, unseen breeze stood in the foreground on the left-hand side of the paper. Frowning a little, he added in a grassy hillside and then, as an afterthought, some shadows. They had a sort of friendship between them, not just based on the fact that they were both good athletes, but also because they were loners. The only difference was that at the end of the day, the line of separation was that Sunstreaker still had his brother and would therefore never know loneliness as Mirage knew it.

Footsteps sounded outside the brig and Sunstreaker tensed again, ready to subspace the drawing at the first glimpse of an unfamiliar face. The mech that entered however was anything but. Sunstreaker relaxed his grip on the paper inspite of the scowl on his face.

“Come to gloat have you?” he asked.

“Please,” Tracks scoffed. “I happen to be far more cultured than that.”

“The slag are you here for then?” Sunstreaker criss-crossed some lines on the right-hand side of the paper.

“Was in the repair bay getting a patch-job done when they brought Cliffjumper in looking like he’d lost a fight with a rabid mountain lion. I’m guessing that’s why you’re in here.”

“What makes you think I had anything to do with that?” He ran the broad side of the charcoal over the lines.

“Really Sunny, how stupid do you think I am?”

Sunstreaker looked up with a raised optic ridge.

“Don’t answer that,” Tracks said. “But honestly, that kind of damage had your name all over it. No one else can maim a bot as artistically as that, well, maybe except for Sideswipe.”

“Nah, Sideswipe isn’t that creative,” Sunstreaker replied. “He just hits wherever he feels like it.”

“So it was you then?”

Sunstreaker shrugged. “He had it coming.”

Tracks shifted slightly. “Come see me when you get out of here, I’ll loan you some wax. You look like you need it.”

The yellow mech snorted. “Not as much as you do.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘thank you’.”

“Frag off.”

“Your vocabulary’s improving.”

“Primus, do I have to call Prowl down here to get rid of you? Beat it slagger.”

“Alright, alright…. It was nice seeing you too Sunshine. Take care now.” Tracks headed to the door.

“Hey Tracks.”

The blue mech stopped at the doorway and glanced back. “Yes?”

“I’ll hold you to that offer.”

Tracks smirked, though not maliciously, and headed out the rest of the way. Sunstreaker, meanwhile, added a few more touches to his sketch. A small set of buildings at the foot of the hill with more swirls of the broad end of the charcoal – a city in the distance, shrouded in mist.

A lot of mechs thought that he and Tracks were bitter rivals. In actual fact, they were simply fiercely competitive friends – especially in the vanity department. It wasn’t uncommon for the two of them to head into the city together and soak up the attention given to them by the humans, though very few mechs knew of this. Few also knew that the vanity was also a mask to hide deeper fears, and to keep people away so that those fears wouldn’t be discovered.

Sunstreaker looked up from his drawing and stretched, wishing he knew what time it was, and thus, how much longer he had to wait in there. He tried to gauge it by the noises he heard outside – or the lack of them. Had to be some time during the pre-dawn hours for this level of quiet. Standing up, he paced the length of his cell for a while to stretch his legs before sitting back down, pulling out his drawing and studying it for a moment.

He looked up at the sound of a familiar footstep and his lips stretched into something of a thin smile when he heard the voice that followed. Trust Jazz to bring the dawn because that was the time the Special Operations officer was due to arrive back from his patrol. Sure enough, here he was, right on schedule. The black-and-white’s head appeared at the door as expected, having heard what had gone down earlier that morning.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” he greeted in his melodic, accented voice. “And yep, it is mornin’. Saw the sun peekin’ over the mountains as soon as I reached the base.”

“That’s nice Jazz,” Sunstreaker replied, head bowed as his hand circled over the paper with the charcoal.

Jazz reached the bars and held out a can of energon. Not looking up, Sunstreaker pointed to the floor and Jazz reached through and put the can down.

“Just make sure you drink that when you’re done or Sideswipe’ll have my head on a platter,” he said.

“Sides likes you.”

“Sure, but not as much as he likes you. I’m gonna put in a word with Prime and see if I can get him to let you out ‘fore Sides comes home, but y’gotta promise me y’ll stay away from ‘Jumper for a while.”

“I don’t wanna be anywhere near that little runt,” Sunstreaker replied. “Just see that he stays away from me.”

“Consider it done, Sunshine.” Jazz moved to go.

“And Jazz… thanks.”

“Anytime man.”

He liked Jazz. More often than not, he’d usually take the Twins’ side whenever they got into trouble and had, on occasion, saved them from intended harsher punishment. Sunstreaker respected the mech’s abilities – both in the line of duty, and also with other bots. He didn’t know why, but everyone seemed to like Jazz; probably because he was the bridge between the command element and the rest of the Autobots.

Sunstreaker stroked the charcoal across the paper where he’d added a bright sun breaking through a few clouds and stretching its beams out to the tree as well as the misty city. Then, setting the sketch down for a moment, he got up, crossed the cell and picked up the can of energon. He silently toasted Jazz, then tipped the contents back.

He’d barely sat back down again when Prowl walked into the brig. Having no way to subspace the drawing without looking conspicuous, Sunstreaker did the first thing that came to mind. He lay back on the bench so that his back covered the sheet of paper. The charcoal he kept fisted in his hand.

“Did you want something?” he asked the black-and-white.

“I passed Jazz on the way out,” Prowl replied. “He asked me to check on you and see if you’d had the energon.”

“The empty can’s by the bars, so you can go tell him I’m fine.”

“I also came to tell you that Sideswipe’s scheduled to arrive back later today,” Prowl went on, his face as calm as it always was.

“And that’s supposed to make me happy?”

“No, but maybe the fact that we plan to release you before that should, provided you have no more altercations with Cliffjumper or anyone else.”

“The runt can kiss my skidplate,” Sunstreaker snapped.

Prowl went over to a chair and sat down, shifting so that he could lean back comfortably without his doorwings getting in the way. Sunstreaker often wondered why mechs like him, Bluestreak and Smokescreen put up with those things – they looked like a pain in the aft.

“It was Sideswipe wasn’t it?” Prowl asked.

“What was?” Sunstreaker asked gruffly.

“The fight in the lounge. Cliffjumper said something about Sideswipe again.”

“It’s none of your business,” was the muttered response.

“It is my business when I have to incarcerate one of this institution’s best warriors for in-fighting over something as trivial as a provocative comment.”

“You don’t have a brother, you wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand enough to know that you being locked up again and again hurts your brother more than anything Cliffjumper could ever say. Can’t you just try, for once, to not let it get to you?”

Sunstreaker just grunted. Primus curse him, he hated when Prowl was right. Most of the Ark knew that the best way to hurt the brothers was to provoke one of them into doing something that would get him locked up, thereby forcibly separating the two for a period of time. He, himself, knew it, and yet he kept falling for it.

When the silence between them continued to stretch, the yellow mech raised his head to see if Prowl had left. To his surprise however, he found the tactician asleep on the chair, head bowed, arms folded across his mid-section. For a moment, Sunstreaker considered calling out to wake him up and tell him to go back to his room and sleep, but knowing the tactician as well as he did, the mech would just go back to his work. He thought the better of it and decided to let Prowl rest where he was.

Assured that he would get no more interruptions from the Second-In-Command, Sunstreaker sat up and smoothed out his drawing in front of him again. The picture was nearing completion; all he needed was a subject. A shifting sound made him look up, thinking Prowl had awoken, but the tactician had simply moved a little in his sleep. The yellow mech studied him for a moment, his optics roaming over the other’s curves and lines.

He’d never tried sketching Prowl before. Oh sure, he’d drawn Bluestreak, but Prowl had a certain grace about him that the gunner did not possess. His fingers twitched and moved the charcoal over the paper. Looking down, he saw that he’d already to sketch a part of the tactician’s chevron. Sighing and frowning resignedly, Sunstreaker got to work, meticulously transferring what he saw across the cell to his picture. He worked hard, fighting off the fatigue that had finally caught up with him.

\----------

Prowl raised his head with a start and checked his chronometer to find that it was some time in the mid-morning. He realized he’d fallen asleep in the brig as he stood and stretched, working out the kinks in his back and joints. Why hadn’t Sunstreaker woken him, he wondered. He went over to the bars and soon found the reason.

The yellow mech lay face-down on the floor in recharge, in a cell that seemed a little too small for his large frame. Prowl felt a pang of pity for the warrior, wishing he wouldn’t feel the need to avenge his brother so fiercely, and knowing that he would the next time someone had too much bravado to burn.

The tactician deactivated the bars and crouched down to wake the warrior when he saw the piece of paper under Sunstreaker’s hand. Maneuvering his head to get a better look, he saw that it was a charcoal sketch, and was quite impressed with the simplistic beauty of it – the bold and soft lines, light and dark shading. The picture was of himself leaning back against a young tree on a grassy hillside, in a peaceful recharge. A newly risen sun broke through the clouds to cast gentle beams of light upon the hill, tree and mech, as well as on the misty city in the distance.

It was a well-drawn picture, but who had done it? Then his optics rested on Sunstreaker’s other hand and saw the black smudges on the other mech’s fingers that could only have come from charcoal. A small smile graced the tactician’s lips as he straightened, stood up and took a step back.

“Sunstreaker, wake up,” he called. “Sunstreaker!”

Optics flickered, then brightened as he raised his head and looked up at Prowl – his brow creasing into its usual scowl as he pushed himself into a kneeling position.

“You’re free to go,” Prowl said. “Have some energon and clean yourself up.” He headed to the door. “Then get some rest. I know you were quite busy earlier, nicely done.” Prowl left the brig.

Sunstreaker looked down and saw the picture on the floor, then realized what Prowl had been referring to. “Slaggit,” he muttered as he subspaced the drawing and stood.

\----------

When Sideswipe returned later that afternoon, he found his twin seated on the red mech’s bunk, slipping one of his sketches into a metal-and-glass frame; and he leaned over his brother’s shoulder to get a better look.

“That’s a nice one,” he remarked. “When did you get the time to do it?”

“This morning,” Sunstreaker replied. “I couldn’t sleep, wanted to draw something. Had a few friends give me some ideas.”

“You have friends?” Sideswipe teased.

“Frag you, aft-head.”

“You spent all that time drawing huh?” Sideswipe sat beside his twin and put his chin on the other’s shoulder. “So you never kicked the crap out of Cliffjumper then?”

Sunstreaker glanced back. “How did you…?”

“Cursory medical check-up. Noticed Cliffjumper there as well complete with your signature mauling.”

The yellow mech sighed. “I know you hate it when I get locked up for fighting on your behalf Sides, but I couldn’t let him get away with what he said about you bro, even if it meant a night in the brig.”

Sideswipe shrugged, not moving his head from Sunstreaker’s shoulder. “I do the same for you Sunny.”

Sunstreaker clipped the frame into place. “I know”. He gently nudged his brother’s head with his own, then stood up. “Get some rest Sideswipe.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be back, just need to go take care of something first.”

\----------

When Prowl returned to his quarter after his shift that night, it didn’t take him long to figure out that someone else had been in there before him. Stepping further inside and looking around, he soon found what was out of place. There was something on his desk that had not been there before.

Going over to it, he saw that it was the sketch Sunstreaker had done of him earlier that morning, now neatened up, signed and framed. Beside it was a small note that read: “I’ll think about it”. Smiling slightly, Prowl placed the picture carefully on a shelf, before heading to his berth to recharge.

~END.


End file.
